


Demon across the street

by Llafnineve



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, He's hot, There will be some smut, college kills me but ill try to keep up, dunno when tho, this is reboot dante
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8636707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llafnineve/pseuds/Llafnineve
Summary: You were in trouble and with bad people on your trail back in Sumit, which led you to move and start from scratch in a new place. But your lucrative business would come with you, as would your controversial best friend Mitch.You choose the cheapest property from the cheapest street, and so rent a store on the street opposite the abandoned building named Devil May Cry. However, it's owner returns with plans to stay.This is how you met Dante, certainly a man like no other.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I know some fans don't quite like DmC Dante, but I find him so hot and I love him so much I wanted to read something about him, but I could not find a satisfatory amount of stories featuring him, and that made me soooo sad I wanted to write my own, and I hope to satisfy other people who also look forward to read something envolving him.
> 
> This is supposed to take place a few years after DmC, I tried to find a way to connect both timelines and yet keep the DmC one the most prominent, as I tend to believe (i'm probably wrong tho) that's what Ninja Theory tried to do, since Donte is younger than the Dante from original timeline aaaannd in the end of DmC ~SPOILER~ his hair turns permanently white, so... That's it. 
> 
> Unbetaed work, feedback is appreciated.

Mitch refuses to accept the deal you offer him, which leads you both to a discussion. However, your quarrel seems to draw more attention from the man inside the trailer instead of the woman with him.

 

* * *

 

Part One

 

 

            Your fingers press around the cold steel of the knob, and you shut the door. The room goes dark when you close the shutter.

            "So? What do you think? " your apprehensive eyes stare at Mitch, who pulled the outer earphones from his ears, letting them rest against his neck to look around. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, and his brown eyes investigate the environment.

            "It looks good. Colourful and expensive too, actually. Where did you get the money from? "

            "I have my savings," you toss a lock of hair behind your ear, and cross your arms over your chest. "and this is a business that is worth the investment. I guarantee you, none of my clients will forsake me, they know my new address. "

            "Good for you." He remarks, with a smirk on his lips.

            Something was going on in his head, that's a fact. Mitch has a different way of looking at you when he is musing on things he does not want or can not say. As a lot of bullshit constantly come out of his mouth, you do not charge him to say it.

            "How do you know it will be profitable here? An island... hard to believe. "

            "When did I ever go wrong on you before, Mitch?" you pluck the cigarette from his left hand, leading it into your own mouth. Two thick torrents of smoke escape your nostrils, and you give it back to him. "Trust my client list, I could use your help."

            "And what do I get in return?" the malice in his eyes became apparent, and he rubs his own lower lip with his thumb. The cigarette smouldering between his index and middle fingers.

            "Twenty percent is all I can promise."

            He chuckles, as if it really amused him. "I want half. Fifty."

            “No. Although I wanted, there's no guarantee that I can get the half you refer to. We are no longer in home, you idiot. "

            "Then there's no deal." he went a step further towards the exit, and you muttered a curse word to yourself.

            "Twenty five," you suggested. "and I'm doing you a favour"

            "Shove your favours you know very well where." He opened the door, stepping out of the store.

            "Son of a bitch." You follow him out. The kind of friendship you had with Mitch could not be considered healthy, since he flirts with you at all times in what should be a professional relationship.

            You triumphed in Sumit during two years of steady business, however, stronger forces forced you to move and start from scratch elsewhere. "Mitch! Come on!" you plead.

            No matter what it cost, you would get that money. You _needed_ his money.

            "You have your savings. You do not need me, " he replies sarcastically, his hands raised above his head, as if he were a victim.

            "Thirty." You offered. You would not go any further than that, no matter what he did.

            "Half, or nothing."

            You close your eyes, nibbling your lower lip. _That motherfucker ._ "Thirty-eight, and it's as far as I'm willing to go," you ventured.

            He smiles, and you imagine how satisfying it would be to go back to his suite and get the pistol in there to put a bullet in his head.

            Mitch drops his cigarette on the sidewalk, and before he can step on it, a man rushes past him and does it instead. "Obviously you do not want this as much as you think. Too bad." He says, serenely.

            "Screw you, Mitch." Your fingers press the doorknob with excessive force.

            "Forty-five, honey."

            "Thirty-eight." You repeat your offer, teeth clenched against each other.

            He laughs. "As I thought, your mind is fooling you. I'm going back to the motel, when you decide to be serious about this, send me a message, okay? "

            "Do not hold your fucking breath." You spit, with latent hostility in your tone of voice.

            Mitch just laughed, continuing to make his way to the corner of the street. You're still standing, assimilating what has just happened. You wanted, no, you _needed_ Mitch’s share.

            Opening a bakery to launder drug money was certainly a pretty good idea, if it were not necessary to buy both candy and cakes as well as keep up with your vendor. It would not be easy to maintain a stable financial situation and have as little profit as possible.

            You were counting blindly on your client list.

            After whispering another derogatory swear word to Mitch, you clench your hands when you feel you are being watched. You observed along the street, and everyone seemed to live their own lives.

            Your eyes bump into a guy's, inside a trailer parked across the street on the curb. All you can see is his bare torso through the window in which he is leaning. Between the fingers of his left hand is a lit cigarette, while on the right, a glass with a yellowish substance that you assumed to be beer. His attention alternated between you and Mitch. This means that he was watching the conversation. He expels smoke and you both make eye contact for a few seconds, which left you irritated enough to consider asking him from afar what the fuck he was looking at, but a brunette appeared at his side, hanging herself on his body as if she had the weight of a leaf. She leans over and begins to whisper something in his ear, and you swear you saw a part of her bare breasts as she did.

            He answers something, but his expression remains neutral when he blows smoke from his mouth, and then observes the sign with the name of your establishment. After that, his eyes are on you again.

            "Mhmph" you back off, opening the door and going back inside the shop. A scenario where Mitch did not cooperate was unbearable to you, however, he seemed impassive, and you're too proud to let him think he has the reins of the situation.

            With your middle and index fingers, you open a crack in the shutter covering the door and watch the trailer. The expressionless man before now is laughing as he throws the stub out into the street, and then pulls the curtains up, covering the window.

            You walk away from the door and turn toward the semi-ready room of your confectionery. The consensus is that there would not be many tables, after all, you do not have the patience to deal with customers. The plan is for you to serve them and then they leave, making room for others. However, you do not want to leave this message so explicit, so you put some benches near the counters, and two subtle tables, with only one chair each.

            There was still a lot to be done by Monday. You look at your watch and realize it’s almost three o'clock in the afternoon, and remember that you need to be somewhere else. Sweets will not order on their own, and you need them ready on Monday morning.

            Placing your dear pistol at the back of the waistband of your pants, you put on your jackets and play with the keys between your fingers before leaving the store again.

Looking at the four streets that formed the crossroads, you waited for some cars to pass before crossing the asphalt to the opposite sidewalk. You pass the trailer parked on the curb and take a short break on the corner.

            You still don’t know the city properly, so sometimes you had lapses of memory and forgot how to reach the places you wanted to be. To get to the strange madam’s house who promised her delicious cakes and pies, you had to get your way through one of the four streets, yet you were not sure which.

            Turning on his heels, you look down the street and you have the slight impression that it is that way. The trailer was parked in front of the abandoned store. The sign, now lit, dragged your attention to it.

            It had been almost five weeks since you first got here, and that building was abandoned. There was not a single soul coming from or going to that place. A large, dark, rustic building with a small staircase and double doors on front, above which a sign was constantly off.

            But now, surprisingly, it was alight. And you could read the phrase "Devil May Cry" outlined by pink LED lights.

            That was fine, really fine actually. The more open and working establishments, the more people would be lured into the street. Which meant more customers.

            But no. The woman's house was definitely not in that direction. You turn around again, choosing to take the entrance to your left. But before you could go, you heard a few shrill, muffled shouts coming from the trailer.

            He might be killing her, but you should not care about it, especially since it is more likely that he is not killing her. Quite the opposite, actually.

 _It's none of my business._ You repeat to yourself before you go your own way.

 

 


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You close business with Mitch, and after that, a customer appears in the store. She is somehow related to the guy in the trailer.  
> You go out to celebrate the profitable week and ends up meeting him again, this time to discover you made a terrible mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I took so much to update this and I feel so embarrassed, sorry. I'm enjoying vacation now, so... that's why it took me so long.  
> Anyways, here is the update, I should not take more than a week to update again.

 

 

_This is Mitch. Leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible._

            "You son of a bitch, I've been leaving you messages since Friday, and you're listening to every single one of them, so why you do not show a sign of life? I don’t know yet to get around the city, I don’t know what motel you are staying, so you better show your goddamn face until Wednesday. I promise I'll find you if you do not. This is the last fucking message I’ll leave you, I said it before, but this time I mean it." Your fingers tighten around the phone in your hands. You stick the fork into the cake, taking another piece to your mouth. As you swallow, you rethink your attitude and realize that treating him with hostility will only push him away even more, so you decide to retake your sentence after a deep breath. "Look, I've overreacted, okay? I accept your offer, I'll give you the amount you think you deserve. So just come here already, or call me back. Please."

            Frustrated, you drop your cell phone on the counter and, for the next few minutes, keep your attention focused entirely on the cake stuffed with red fruits you are eating.

            He is a douche bag, and likes to play sensitive when you two get into a fight only to push your buttons.

            After much thought, it was incredible to you that you had managed to relate such pressing factors to something as simple as cake. Back to Sumit, you were not in the business alone, so you did not have to mask your real activities. That is, there was not a bakery devoted entirely to sweets and desserts at your disposal, under your responsibility.

            There was now, and you're already comfortable about putting on a few pounds. Having all these pies, ice cream and treats at your mercy is everything you wanted in life.

            The store had been open for at least two hours now, – on debut – and all that passed those doors was a curious little boy, eagerly watching the food he could not afford. After that, he just walked away, and you could not get any money.

            It is so depressing to have organized and bought everything in time to now turn the sign in the door and make it clear to everyone that your store is finally open and not even receive a customer.

            Not that you were bothering to keep the scam. Who knows, you'd even leave the expired products still on the shelves, after all, this store is just a cover to keep the secret of your real business. You need an active trade to have how to wash the pills money, and what you had now was perfect. So you didn't depend exclusively on the clients looking for something to eat - luckily, otherwise you would go bankrupt - but on the other hand, extra money is always welcome.

            The breeze from the fan hitting exclusively your face was beginning to make you feel sleepy. You lay your head on the counter, surrendering to drowsiness, until the door bell rings, and a woman passes by.

            Watching her from head to toe, she is certainly not the kind of client you expected to have. Her hair is blond, shiny and long. She has breasts that seem about to explode from the low-cut dress she is wearing, plus a voluptuous tall body and high heels. _Too high_ for ten o'clock on a Monday morning. She seemed to have had a full night.

            "Good Morning. What can I do for you?"

            "Hi." She greets you with a smile, and then her eyes sweep the store carefully, before she takes two steps toward you, looking rather distressed. "Do you have something here that tastes like strawberry? Anything."

            You laugh nervously, looking around and analyzing each of the desserts and cakes, looking for some of them that are pink or red. "It's a very good question..." you murmur to yourself, but the girl seems to hear it, and she smiles.

            You walk away from her, watching all the refractories the candy was in. The downside of running a fake front shop is that customers would still come, and they would ask questions.

            They would assume that you knew everything you were selling, that you could cook as well. And yet, your only relationship to desserts is how much you enjoyed eating them, _never cooking them._

            "You just got here, didn’t you?"

            "Ah, yeah..." you reply, before kneeling behind the glass counter and watching all of the pies. "I'm new to town. Today is the debut of my store, actually."

            "I can tell just by looking at you. You surely are kinda crazy too. "

            You agree with her in her statement, doubting your own sanity is something you did regularly, why would not a stranger do it too?

            Still, you ask. "What makes you think that?"

            "My dream is to get out of this fucking city, and you, living somewhere else, _anywhere else_ , come here of your own free will. I mean, this place is fucked up."

            You found it funny how she assumed so shallowly that you were in this city of your own volition.

            "What if I told you a fucked up place was exactly what I was looking for?"

            The worst the place, the less attention it would attract. And that was great, just what you were in need for, some place where you could have peace and no threats to your life.

            The girl smirks, leaning her elbows on the glass counter and resting her face on the palm of her hand. "So you're fucked up, too. I somehow like you."

            You shrug. "Great, I think I could use a friend."

            Opening one of the boxes, you find the mousse cakes, and curses the old woman for not giving any reference as to their filling. So, you simply pull the pink one out of the box; it smells sweet and strawberry like, so you put it on the counter, sighing.

            "I cannot be your friend." She remarks, sounding somehow ashamed.

            "Oh, okay." Your eyes roam around, searching for one of the Styrofoam disposable boxes and a paper bag, to pack what would be your very first sale.

            "Do not get me wrong, I'd love to be friends with someone who sells these sweets, but I don’t live in the neighbourhood. In fact, I live on the other side of the city and I come here at every equinox just for… special reasons."

            You wouldn’t ask.

            "I see, well, there you go.” You pull a lock of hair behind your ear, wanting as much as possible that your description sounded appetizing.  “This one is an eggless strawberry mousse cake. I can assure you it tastes like heaven, because I took one of them for myself yesterday, and I've been nibbling it ever since. "

            "Fine, this should do."

            "So, how many slices you want me to take?"

            She smirked, as if you just told her a joke.

            You wait for the laughter to cease in silence, the woman shakes her hands in the air while regaining seriousness. "I want the whole cake."

            You watch her in silence, thinking of an endless stream of compliments. She had soft, moisturized hair, beautiful eyes, and had been very kind. She was certainly a heavenly being that God – if any – sent to the store because he felt sorry for you.

            Smiling broadly, you run out of words for a few seconds while she laughs at how shocked you were. "Please come more often to this neighbourhood."

            She grins in amusement as you take care of packing the cake as capriciously as possible for her to carry it.

            The door bell rings again, and a man enters the store. You two look away at the entrance. The woman, still with the remains of a happy smile on her lips, nods and says, "Hey, Dan, I was just..."

            "Stop calling me like that," he snaps back, looking rather moody as he approaches the both of you. "What’s taking you so damn long?"

            The relaxed look in the woman's eyes mottles with the question. She opens her lips more than once, but nothing is said.

            Meanwhile, the man seems to parse the location. He doesn't care to be discreet while his gaze sweeps around the place; and stops only to support one of his elbows over the counter, as comfortable as if he owned the place.

            You stare at the profile of his face while he is silent and waiting for a response from her, who is looking at you. The exchange of looks built up a tension that had you shifting restlessly, especially when you realize that this is the same man who was in the trailer two days ago.

            All that silence and tense aura were making you extremely uncomfortable, so you decide to break the ice. “Hi,” you greet him, wishing you sounded gentle enough.

            The man doesn’t bother to answer vocally. Instead, he looked away from his acquaintance to you very briefly, and with a unfazed expression to his face, shook his head almost too quickly, greeting you back.

            Like her, he showed signs of a full night; with dark circles under his ice blue eyes and the subtle smell of alcohol coming from his clothes, which were just a simple black shirt and jeans. In addition, a messy and white mohawk which did not seem to see a comb for days, but somehow looked rather

            "I was getting us something to eat. I was already coming back." She responds, and then gestures with her hand so that you continue what you have stopped doing only to watch their argument.

            Regaining focus, you remember that you're still working, so you shove the cake inside the paper bag.

            “The fuck is that?” He asks, arching an eyebrow as his now narrowed eyes stare at the package, "Mia, all you had to do was go to the market and buy a damn ice cream pot, as I told you to."

            "Fuck you Dante, I can’t stand eating your shitty food anymore!" she rattles, taking some money from her bra, and handing a fifty note to you. "I think that should be enough."

            “It’s not shitty.” He retorted.

            “Of course it is! You know… snacks are nice and stuff, okay, it is, but you should have it only once in a while. You can not possibly be healthy eating junk food all the time. Your damn body needs something substantial to keep steady, that’s a fact.” She stops grumbling only to turn to you, and then points him a finger. “Tell him I’m right, don’t you agree with me?”

            You shrug, opening your mouth with no idea of what to say, all the while she kept her gaze in you and he did the same for a brief moment, his lips parted, barely waiting for you to form a sentence before he turned to her again.

            She made a commendable point about how the human body needed substantial food, but probably forgot what she just bought. That is why you had no clue of what to say.

            Both of them were wrong.

            “Because a fucking cake is so healthy, right?” He asks rhetorically, the tone of his voice expressing both irony and revulsion.

            That leaves her speechless, but she had it coming.

            Sighing, you stop spacing and wastes no time in opening the empty cash register to get her change; you push the amount of money out of your own pocket, instead, handing it to her.

            "There you go." You place your hands over the closed package, pushing it gently toward her.

            Now not only him, but both of them were stressed out, so to make a treat, you put a small sugar candy over the paper bag, trying to disguise the tension with a warm smile.

            "Thank you, my name is Mia, by the way."

            As if you didn’t heard him address her like that already.

            "It was nice to⸺" you are interrupted shortly by the sudden act of the man, who without taking his eyes off of you, takes the candy for himself and turns towards the door, walking out the store. "meet you, Mia."

            “Yeah, same here.”

            From the cranky look and her voice tone, she doesn’t seem pleased by his recent attitude. Mia doesn’t linger after that. She follows him out, and they both cross the street, entering the building named Devil May Cry.

            Sighing with relief, you let your body fall onto the chair again, gazing at the money in your hands. The cell phone vibrates in your pocket and you raise your hips to get it, realizing you received a new message.

_It is so good that you finally came back to your senses, monkey. That is a very appealing situation for the both of us, since we can only gain from now on. I'm getting there, what can I get us to eat?_

Feeling your upper lip tremble in anger, you sigh. You need to keep sane, otherwise you'd lose it even more with Mitch. Not something you could allow to happen.

            "Bastard..."

  
         **Five days later.**

 

            At five in the afternoon, your eyes are so heavy with sleep that you can barely get around the store. With a cupcake between your teeth, you push the chairs down their respective tables.

            The first week had been a complete fiasco in the desserts business.

            Mia had been your first and only client in search of food. However, dozens of people entered the store, but not in search of cakes or puddings. _People who came to consume of your real business._

            You had a reputation back home. To have the best hydroponic marijuana in town, and while biting your cupcake, you thought if you could build a similar one around here. Just enough to keep your pockets full, nothing so shocking to the point of taking your fame out of the State and bring back outstanding issues of the past back to your pursuit.

            There was a reason for you to sacrifice so much by moving out of town and leave your friends and people you cared so deeply.

            The deal was sealed with Mitch, so he did his part and spread the word. He met and called to each one of his contacts, informing about the new dealership in the city. And luckily some of them felt curiosity enough to come and  check. Leaving you a good amount of money.

            The first week had been a complete success in the pills business.

            Because of that, he thought it would be suitable to have a few drinks at some random night club. He knew you; he knew how much of a party animal you were.

            You sighed, watching the bartender leave the two drinks you chose on the counter. Your gaze sought his, and pointing your chin to the cups, you smiled. “Drinks at your expense tonight.”

            A heavy dejected sigh passed his lips as he brought the beer to his mouth, taking a quick sip. "No shit, I am so surprised." The irony in his voice was blatant, but you couldn’t care less.

            “I don’t get the reason for the attitude. You invited me, so it’s on you.”

            "Yeah, I invited you to celebrate that those wankers actually came to buy your shit, because of me, and still you want to extort me." His voice is sharp, even if his eyes seemed tedious, as if he is so used to being mistreated by your dubious and ruthless self.

            He was playing sentimental again.

            "Poor thing. But it is so great that you want to talk about extortion, because I wouldn’t mind to discuss who started extorting whom."

            A giggle escapes his lips, and he watches you over his shoulder. "It certainly wasn't me."

            You grin while taking a sip of the drink. It was one of the two vodka shots that you asked the bartender. Sighing, you move your hips on the seat, turning it until your back is propped against the counter. You watch the crowd, now hundreds of blue heads were frantically moving at the sound of the beat. You wish you were there, but you just had so much in your mind.

            Receiving customers in your store did not cause the feeling of relief and stability that you desired. Changes are always difficult in the beginning, new cities, new auras, new streets to memorize. Starting from scratch is tricky, and you knew it well, because this is the third time you do it, and you're sure it would not be the last. Best of luck would be required for it to be.

            Your grandfather always told you drinking gets rid of the problems, but he was the main reason you never wanted to touch alcohol in your life. You were the greatest of the reprobates to alcohol consumption until you turned seventeen; but it was precisely at this age that you had to flee for the first time; and on your own, there was not a company other than fear if not alcohol.

            That was enough to change your mind forever.

            “Why are you holding back, sweetheart?” Mitch’s voice calls over the loud music. “You’re spacing out there. You’re not that quiet”

            “Yes, I am.”

            “Not at parties,” he shruggs, and you can’t help but laugh yourself. “I know you for three years, come on. What is in your mind?”

            You tilt your head back, sipping the vodka all at once. “Nothing really,” you lie. “What about yourself, sir, what are you thinking? I mean, can you think? Three long years and I still couldn’t find that one out, I think it’s empty in there.” You tease as you press your index finger to his temple in a playful tone.

            “Funny.” He pulls his head to the side, straying from your finger. “Actually I was thinking we should have intercourse.”

            With a frown on your lips, you come down from the chair you were sitting. "Okay, you won. I'm going to dance."

            He seems to find it funny, so he just laughs. You take the second shot all at once, feeling the drink burn down your throat.

            "Damn, what's your problem with me? All the girls I know find me cute. You're the only one who acts like I'm fucking disgusting."

            "You're not cute."

            He rolls his eyes, but you know that doesn't really offend him. The real quarrels you two had were based on swearing much worse than this, and it's not like he's really in love with you.

            On the contrary, Mitch avoided the girls he liked as if they were radioactive, because he hated to get involved. He just started this kind of argument to get on your nerves.

            "Well, implying that beauty is a requirement to be with you. It's not as if Chuck was the most handsome man of all, and yet you both..."

            "Don’t dare to mention him." You snarl, the latent irritation at his cunning in bringing this bastard to the topic. “No, not Charles. You know he’s off limits. You don’t just get to talk about Charles near me after everything I been through.”

            He gives you a sheepish look, shrugging. "Whatever, girl.”  

            Mitch and Charles were close. Very good friends. When everything happened, you went for Mitch first, begging for his support and help because he knew it all, the both sides of the story.

            You were surprised when he took your side, though. That is how their friendship ended. Charles felt betrayed and threatened him as well.

            With irritation bubbling inside, you leave him as fast as you could. You were  absolutely indignant at his attitude. Mitch more than anyone knew how many times your life was on the line with that bastard. Still he doesn’t seem to hesitate nor think that hearing that name would do you harm, he'd just dump all the shit out and you'd find a way to deal with it, because he just doesn't give a damn.

            You grit your teeth as you enter the crowd.

            Feeling like drinking, you hope there is another bar on the other side, just so you could serve yourself with other shots and remain far from Mitch’s sight. In that moment, all you could think was that luckily you had enough money to call a cab, because in no _fucking_ way would you go back with him.

            Time and again people bump into you while you walk without knowing exactly where. As you look up toward the mezzanine, you see the crowded VIP cabins. People dancing in a single rhythm while rubbing themselves in others as they were possessed.

            Some men look at you with longing eyes, as if you were a prey, and the boldest even went so far as to run a hand through your hair, and when you turned around, taken in fury and ready to complain some good deeds, you couldn’t tell who was responsible, because the place was too damn full.

            You could even risk that they did the impossible, occupying the same place with two or more bodies.

            All you can think of is that one time or another, if you keep walking forward, there would be an end. Standing on tiptoes, you see a large bright drink shelf, so you smile as you haste your pace and apologize to people whose feet were trodden by you.

            This time you asked for eight shots, the bartender put the glasses on the counter before you. Bringing the bottle to fill them was enough to attract the attention of a few men and women around, drunk enough to shout words of encouragement and challenge to what you were about to do. Take all the shots in sequence.

            Fortunately, you don't let that little moment of fame come to your head. You are not drunk enough to do that, and yet you were about to be.

            You were drinking to get away from your problems, there was no excitement about it, just thirst for mental and physical relief. Things that, with time, drinking offered you.

            And then, one by one, you take all the shots available. "Fuck!" you croak as your eyes watered in a surprisingly satisfying way, and a few excited shrieks greeted your recent achievement.

            All you could do after that was to laugh while you throw a few bills of money on the counter, not even knowing their value. The bartender is honest enough to return two of the twenty bills, and you gave one of them back to him immediately, ordering two long neck beers.

            Lively enough and with both bottles in hand, you return to the crowd. The dubstep bass thundered against the soles of your heels and you become lightheaded soon enough. Your mind seem to have gone blank, and when you started letting your body follow the music, jumping along with the immensity of bodies around you, you forget the past, your troubles, your disputes, and even who you were.

            It feels so good to be like this after so much time with a busy head. To drink as much as you want, do whatever you want, go home whenever you want, without worrying about tomorrow.

            But the feeling of ecstasy ended at the very moment the last bottle of beer was empty, and you had to go back to the counter to get more.

            Your fingers were drumming on the glass surface, under which were some leaflets of amateur bands and their concerts while you waited.

            With the alcohol circulating through your veins, you feel aroused enough to look around for some minimally attractive guy and maybe  make out a little. Not that you are sober enough to keep you from making a fool of yourself and bring regrets the next day.

            Then the possibility of finding someone is quickly extinguished.

            It was just at the moment the bartender arrives with the bottle you asked him, that you look around and see the guy from the trailer, Mia's friend, the dude with a totally haughty behaviour you met a few days ago.

            You probably aren't thinking straight when you hold the bottle in your hands and head toward him. Without even bothering to pay. You somehow start laughing when you see him hold a long neck bottle of beer similar to yours, but of another brand, and then talk to the bartender casually, as if they already knew each other.

            "Hi!" You greet him the moment you arrive, but he doesn't seem to hear. Then you walk a few more steps until you stand beside him, your elbow propped on the counter as you smile and watch him, when he had not even seen you yet. "Hey, you!"

            You definitely are not thinking straight. "Hey, dude”

            Finally catching his attention, you are not let down by the unfriendly look he gives you.

            What was his name again? You could barely remember.

            "Dante, right? My front neighbour!"

            Narrowing his eyes, he glances at you from top to bottom, making a silent analysis of you that makes you dull and quiet for a few seconds.

            "Wasted," he mutters, in a concluding tone. You don't know for sure what that meant or even if he meant it insultingly.

            "What did you just say?"

            "Nothing."

            With the quick, raw response, you feel embarrassed for a moment. The fact that he lived in front of your house and his friend bought a cake from you meant nothing at all, there is no reason for you to go talk to him or even expect him to be willing to trash talk with you.

            Even so, you are not intimidated. You are drunk, so you can still blame on it. "What are you doing here?"

            He remains silent, what makes you think for a moment he din't quite heard you. His gloved hand carries the bottle to his mouth, and he takes a generous sip from it.

            He was hot, definitely hot.

            You take advantage of his silence to watch him. He was wearing a black tank top that clung to his firm upper body, and dark jeans ripped to his knees. He definitely doesn't care much about looking perfect or preppy, nor should he, since his casual demeanour suited him well.

            "I'm having fun." He seems to give up the silence, and snaps you out your admiration. His tone absurdly nonchalant.

            "I guessed right then." You remark, only after realizing how silly that sounds.

            You obviously are a nuisance and he was not saving on showing it such. You are about to leave when he turns to you, his posture relaxed as he rests his left elbow over the counter and watchs you intently as he drinks from his beer. "And you, shouldn’t you be home baking your stupid cakes?"

            You are pretty sure he is not really interested in you or what you were supposed to be doing, even so he is being somehow nice.

            "I can’t cook. Nothing that's inside that shop was made by me, I buy everything."

            He scoffs, "It sure explains a lot."

            You arch an eyebrow, and it's your turn to take a sip of beer. "What do you mean?"

            He sighs, watching you with an indecipherable look.

            "What is that supposed to mean?" You repeat the question, unable to disguise the air of impatience.

            "Not a big deal."

            You sigh deeply, drinking a little more not to lose your temper. "Finish what you started, for God's sake."

            He shruggs, eyes roaming the crowd next to the both of you. "The cake you sold Mia. That was not strawberry."

            Impossible. It smelled like strawberry, it looked like strawberry. It was pink, light pink, just like a strawberry cake would be. "No fucking way─"

            "That thing was cherry. You sold us a fucking cherry cake and said it was strawberry."

            Outraged, all you can do is open your mouth a few times, unable to say anything. And with each new second he grows more impatient.

            "Um, I don't know what to say." You press your lips together, trying to contain a sudden urge to laugh that is torturing you, after all, he was serious, and if you started laughing, it would be tragic. "Sorry, maybe?"

            Damn that old woman for not giving any reference as to the fillings!

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it.


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